I See Your Angel, and I Raise You a Heaven
by DarlingSonyei
Summary: The wayward son has rebelled against the halls of Heaven one too many times and the heavenly host forcefully reclaims it's fallen brother. As the last of Sam and Dean's little family, neither Winchester is willing to just let Castiel suffer at the hands of wrathful angels. So they hatch a plan, a plan to break into heaven and liberate their angel.
1. Part 1

Notes: This was written in a mockup of an episode arc, so, if you would, begin your read by first tunelessly singing "Carry on my Wayward Son" and flashing back over every moment between the Winchesters and Castiel.

Up to 8x17.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: AU, explicit language, angst, drug use, violence, murder, concepts of suicide, and a BAMF Dean threatening to burn heaven.

* * *

Here's what Dean knew: Some bitch-ass winged fuckup named Naomi sent three more flying ass clowns down to earth to capture and return the rebel pinup Castiel, and they were ordered to retrieve him alive, but only just if need be. So Dean and Sam had spent the longest fifteen minutes of their lives pinned by invisible creeper angel mojo against a wall and watched helplessly as their friend was robbed of his grace, stabbed in various places with fucked up little torture-seraph knives, and drug bloody, but still kicking and screaming into the maws of Heaven.

Which Dean now thought less of as 'heaven' and closer to God's sandbox for junk and throwaways; there was a single clause to that of course, and that was Castiel, who obviously preferred life on earth to life in heaven because he did not belong with the rest of the holy shit-for-brains mistakes.

Dean knew in the moments that followed the echo of wings and Castiel's screams fading from his ears that he was going to get Cas back no matter what it cost, which probably involved going to heaven. A tight knot of guilt and anger twisted around the Winchester brothers in the aftermath of the angelnapping, because they both loved Castiel and he was a rare and endangered species; the last of the extended Winchester family.

This saw Sam and Dean in preparations for weeks, pouring over every crumb of information about heaven and its bastard patrol as they made careful, strategic arrangements. And every night, Dean would get down on his knees, intertwine his fingers, let his eyes slide shut as he concentrated on a bewildered, bluer then blue stare and an echo of a rough, gravel voice, and say, _"Cas, hang in there buddy, I'm coming for you."_

Every night, Sam tried to pretend he didn't notice.

* * *

The first order of business was figuring out how to escape the soul pit, and break into heaven proper. Step number one then was finding a way to break the heavenly trip down memory lane without the aid of Zacariah's intrusive spotlight. That train of thought led them simultaneously to "Ash." Sam flexed his fingers, muscle memory, and his entire god given intelligence to lump together a theory about going back in time using the blood sigil their grandfather had used and giving Ash the most important goal of his afterlife. Ash had to remember Castiel's incarceration and since they knew he would figure out how to link memory lanes of various hunters and loved ones, they could count on him to jerk them out of their reveries and set them straight.

So while Sam hunted down spells and pieced together incantations, Dean sank his foot to the floorboard and gathered every dust mote of ingredient he could find. As he drove, the eldest Winchester found himself praying almost constantly.

_"Cas, I hope you're giving those flying monkeys hell." _

_"Castiel, angel of the Lord who doth not give a shit, please be okay, because if you're not, I'm going to burn heaven out of the sky."_

_"Cas, buddy…me and Sammy, we miss you like hell. We're coming to save your damsel in distress ass from the goon squad real soon."_

_"Hey Cas, it's me again. Just checking in…I dunno, in case this helps you at all."_

_"Cas! Dean Winchester. Um, me and Sammy are very close to rolling out and swooping your girly ass out of heaven. So, be ready_."

On the night they gathered the final ingredient, both Sam and Dean prayed in their heads quietly, not wanting to embarrass themselves in front of the other. Sam prayed that Cas keep his strength, Dean demanded it, but added a tiny, softly spoken, _"I miss you."_

* * *

Sam set the bowl made of elm on the table, surrounded by sprigs of herbs and bones, powders and jars and paste, and a vial of their most precious resource. The edge of a smile lifted at the corners of Sam's lips as he recalled the memory with Jo, Ellen, and Ash. Jo's pretty blond hair curling around her shoulders as she laughed at her mother, and Ash's quiet, mischievous smile as he pointed out the various ingredients they kept in store in the basement of the Roadhouse, and the vault of vials of blood from every hunter that had ever walked through the door.

Ash said it was for protection; the voodoo version of a restraining order should any hunter turn into a creep and attempt to gank their base of operations. Whatever the reason, they were grateful to have a blood link with Ash, and Sam upended the tiny glass phial into his bowl of mystic and magic. He hated this part, the disgusting blend of life and death and creepy that went into every spell. Why couldn't magic be sterile and sparkly, like Harry Potter? He wouldn't mind waving a stick in the air and muttering made up Latin in a stupid British accent, instead of this sick ass concoction.

But it was reality, and Sam stirred and smashed and muttered dead language into thin air without an outward complaint. He drew the twisted and looping sigil onto the door of their motel room, and stepped back to look at his brother. Dean's face was set, his eyes narrowed and focused.

"Okay, try to focus because this is important. You have to tell Ash about Castiel, really drill it into his head that this is a memory he has to keep. Make it a happy memory somehow, I don't know. All I know is, you can't lead him astray, he has to stay in the Roadhouse and die that day with everyone else, don't try to save anyone. Got it?"

Dean nodded curtly, a segment of his top lip curling as revulsion and anger washed over his features. "Yeah I got it."

He stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, and slammed his hand into the bloody image. Sam prayed to Castiel one last time, and he tried to ignore the pain in his brothers body language.

* * *

Dean was standing in a very tiny, very black room. There was a constant hum behind him and a warm, metallic texture pressed into his bicep so he assumed he was in a utilities room. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to prepare himself. As much as he wanted to barge into heaven right now, Dean was going to step out of this room and look into Jo's face and know that her young life would be brutally short. He would have to look at Ash without giving away any secrets.

Dean sucked in a deep breath and let it out through his nose, straightening his shirt and clenching his jaw. He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob he found in the dark, and stepped into the warm, glowing light of a deserted hallway. He could very easily follow the clamor of glasses and idle chatter, laughter and music of the Roadhouse.

Up a flight of stairs and through the kitchen door, Dean could not help the violent jolt that went through him as he set his eyes on Ellen and Jo at the bar, hunched over a ratty collection of papers that Ash was pointing at.

"Now, this here is a nest in the bayou, I'm sure of it. Been three disappearances in four months, all three victims have turned up with two puncture wounds in the jugular. I'm gonna call in a few hunters and see if anyone wants it, but uh, I don't know. There's just something weird about this that makes me want to hold off. This article plain as day lays out a perfect vamp nest classic, but it's almost 2 weeks old and as far as I know, and I know a lot, no one has picked up its scent.

Seen odd to you? Like it was planted almost."

Jo's brilliant head lifted as Dean approached, and she smirked at him. "Dean. What hole did you crawl out of this time?"

He laughed and after laying a piece of paper down on the bar, approached her; grabbing one of her hands, wrapping his free arm around her slim waist, and pulling her towards the empty floor. Jo's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, but there was joy on Dean's features, not hard desire, so she relaxed in his embrace and danced the waltz of not-knowing-how-to-waltz-at-all with Dean Winchester. After a few moments of twirling in circles and loud laughter from Dean, he let Jo's hands go, and side stepped suavely to Ellen, pulling her in a similar two step dance. The mother was just as startled as the daughter, but she too detected the strange, almost exuberant joy in Dean's body language and so she smiled and showed him a thing or two about the actual dance.

Ash smiled from his perch at the bar, sipping the beer in his hand as Jo reclined on her elbows over the counter top watching Dean and her mother spin in lazy circles of fond friendship. "I wish I knew what's got him all smiles, but it's a damn treasure to see a hunter smile like that."

Ash nodded his agreement, and turned around to look over his papers when he noticed a much newer sheet of paper lying on top of his article clippings. It read in small, viciously red letters:

Winchesters trapped in heaven. Tell them, 'Castiel was taken.'

* * *

It took Dean nearly a week to get back to Sammy, though much of it was simply a grudging desire to stay at the Roadhouse and drink in the presence of the friends he would lose once he returned. He could not ignore the desire to return and move on to the next step of the plan however, he was sure Castiel was somehow suffering even though he went backwards in time, well before the angel was made to pay for his third great rebellion.

A rebellion that still did not make much sense to Dean. The only thing he was aware of was a flash of light in the middle of the night which brought the Winchester's to staring-down-the-barrel-of-a-gun from dead sleep in under three seconds, both boys still sitting in their individual beds wrapped up in blankets. Cas fell out of that light, face first into the motel carpet. His clothes were hanging off of him as if someone had tried to rip them away, or Castiel had the most tremendous sex of his strangely non-sexual existence.

Cas had climbed to his feet and shot a hand in the general direction of the brothers, saying "Run!" in a hoarse voice, as if he'd been screaming for hours. Any further communication had been cut off however, when three pissy flying pigs stumbled in after him, and shoved the weakened star of heaven around, stabbing into his vessel with thin, rakish versions of the archangel blade. Cas roared and screamed and punched and kicked and stabbed himself, but he was one and they were three and Castiel looked to have already been through round twelve hours before.

He had appeared half beaten out of his wits, and though a tremendous fight ensued, in the end, they hoisted the barely conscious divine creature and climbed into the sky without a word of explanation. But Dean knew, deep in his gut where instincts are always right, that this was the last time heaven would allow their rogue angel a taste of rebellion. Warning the Winchesters of whatever was supposed to come their way that night was Castiel's third strike, and heaven is not a kind teacher.

* * *

Sammy did his part however, and by the time Dean returned to his proper place in their timeline they were ready to prepare for the next stage. They hashed it out over piping hot pizza and cold beer, enjoying their meal like it was their last beneath the warm glow of a dimming yellow light. The brothers discussed and laughed and poked at one another, but the hidden subtext was blaring, and it was in fact their last meal on earth.

"Alright, we have to find a way to die without doing it intentionally, we don't want to commit suicide and go to hell. So, the obvious answer is to go hunting, and do really stupid shit. Like forget the flamethrower against a wendigo or something. I mean, eventually our luck has to run out, right?"

Dean nodded as he chomped his way through his oozing cheese slice of pizza, "Sounds like a plan Sammy, anything show up on the radar?"

Sam produced several article clippings that and nodded, "Yeah, I think I found a case in Louisiana, looks like a vamp nest. So, I say we go through our stash, get rid of any dead man's blood and any other useful things against a vamp, and go in guns blazing, except with regular lead slugs in the chamber."

Dean's brow furrowed and he leaned forward suspiciously. "Wait, you said Louisiana, as in the bayou?" When Sam nodded something occurred to Dean, and he set the mostly eaten slice of pepperoni and crust heaven down on his paper plate. "I think the fucks upstairs are on to us. Ash was talking about a vamp nest in Louisiana, and that was almost 2 years ago by this time. I think someone is listening in, trying to prevent us from getting to heaven in case we try anything funny, send us on a wild goose chase until they can finish whatever it is they're doing to Cas."

Sam's eyes flared in concern, and he nodded. "I guess that would make sense. Well, we gotta go legit then. Find a way to die, without…purposefully walking in front of a bus that will probably swerve around us and kill everyone in the bus just to torment us. Seems like something the monkeys upstairs would do."

Dean grunted in agreement, pulling a long drag from his cold brew as his mind churned. "I dunno Sammy. Let's sleep on it, see if we've got any bright ideas in the morning?"

Sam nodded, his dark brown eyes swirling in concern at the taunt, distressed face Dean carried around daily. It was in some ways much worse than the apocalypse, because that they'd won, they'd beaten it back and stomped it into the ground and laughed in its face when it was said and done. But they had Castiel then. Now they had just the two of them, and Dean was cracking under the surface. So many people were dead at the hands of 'heaven', so many good people whose lives were ended on account of the good and right that it made next to no sense that the house of holy was causing even more grief for its own stupid, selfish reasoning.

But, Dean conceded, that was his general opinion of religion anyways.

So they packed up their food and their beers and they turned in for the night. A tired, heavy "Goodnight," exchanged as the lights went out and the brothers settled down beneath their covers.

* * *

Dean had been asleep for an hour or two. Soundly asleep, quiet snores and tossing and turning in the throes of the ever present nightmares. But Sam never did, he laid in his bed, his thoughts whirling as he tried to come up with a way in which a person could intentionally die without committing suicide. And that's when it hit him.

Sam bolted upright in bed, suddenly breathing quickly and painfully. He glanced over at his beloved older brother, staring for what seemed like hours before he decided on a plan of action. He swung his legs out from beneath the covers and quietly picked up Dean's car keys as he made his way outside, and lifted the trunk of the Impala. Rustling through some of their duffle bags, Sam found the two things he was looking for, and prayed one last time to Castiel before he returned to the motel room where his brother lie slumbering.

_"Castiel, I…I just want you to know, if you can hear this, that I'm doing this for Dean and for you. And when it's all said and done and you're rescued—because I know Dean will find you even if he has to tear heaven apart—maybe you could give him back to me?"_

With a heavy heart Sam Winchester walked back into their dingy hotel room, opening a packaged syringe as quietly as he could. He stared at it for a long while, trying to fight back the emotions in him. Every cell in Sam's body was on high alert, every inch of his being screaming at him to back away, to find a different way to do this, but this was the only way Sam could ensure Dean didn't find his way back to hell. It was a burden he would carry to, for once, take care of Dean.

So when the capsule behind the needle was full with a disgusting amount of morphine, Sam stretched his arms out, and shot a lethal dose of pain killers into his brother system. He watched Dean for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction and see if he would wake. The eldest Winchester dozed on, unaware of his impending fate whilst Sam tried to angle the needle in Dean's arm to make it appear like a suicide.

His tears were falling before he could cross the foot distance between beds and hang his head, sobs growing in volume. Dean's snoring was growing quieter, and the agony in Sam's soul was tremendous. He wished so hard that he could siphon the morphine from Dean's body, from one instant to the next he swung in a painful bout between self-loathing and devotion. On one hand, Sam knew Dean would be grateful for his shot to get to Castiel, even if it meant Sammy had to murder him.

But then, Sam was not sure that Dean could have the strength to kill Sammy if the situation had been reversed, in fact, he knew he wouldn't. There was no darkness in Dean, only Sammy carried that taint. So Sam cried his heart out as his brother died next to him, and he prayed so hard that Castiel might hear him and please, please give Dean back when it was all over.

Sam waited for one hour before he picked up his cell phone and dialed for the emergency authorities, hysterically crying—and it was genuine—that his brother was dead. The ambulance came and assessed the situation and took Dean away, needle still hanging from a vein whilst Sam sat on the bed and bawled. The police came and questioned him, and Sam answered everything and went silent and numb. The papers reported a suicide, and there was no one left to ask Sam how Dean was doing because they hadn't heard the news, because they were all dead too.

For Sam, it was now a waiting game. He had to try to avoid dying or he'd go to hell for murdering his brother, but it did little to prevent the youngest Winchester from ganking any supernatural creature he could find. While Dean and Castiel were in heaven battling it out with the bastards upstairs, Sam was the only one left to guard his home, and the watch dog had a very short temper these days.

* * *

First posted fanfic, I thought I would try to give the narrative voice of the characters something much closer to the characters themselves then to what I typically write as...well, myself. So I chose to use profanity within the narrative to make Dean seem more surly and aggressive, and to detail Sam's progressive journey as he loses his brother and the emotional upheaval he will experience afterwards. Let's see how it works out!


	2. Part 2

Notes: This was written in a mockup of an episode arc, so, if you would, begin your read by first tunelessly singing "Carry on Wayward Son" and flashing back over every moment between the Winchesters and Castiel.

Up to 8x17.

**Rating**: M

**Warnings**: AU, explicit language

* * *

When Dean awoke he was lying next to Lisa, and he rolled into her smile and warmth. He could hear Ben playing on his Xbox in the living room already even though it was so early it was still dark out. Then he remembered it was Saturday, and that Lisa would cook thick slices of ham and over easy eggs with toast just like every Saturday. Then he would mow the lawn and have a few beers with the neighbors and later in the afternoon he would go out the garage and show Ben a different part of the Impala's engine to work on.

The covers were warm and he snuggled in closer to his precious bedmate, blissfully content to be there. Lisa's dark brown hair splayed around her face and tickled him whenever his breath would jostle the long strands. His nose wrinkled and he sighed deeply as he wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her flush against him. His little family, just like he'd always wanted.

* * *

Dean wiped at his fingers with a dark green rag, grease slicks coming off in long streaks as he rubbed the skin between his digits. He took special care to wipe down the silver ring he always wore, before he shot a grin at Ben, whose chest was puffed out in pride as he surveyed his handiwork. The Impala was pieced back together down to the last tightened nut, and Ben was covered up to his elbows in oil.

"The carburetor does what?"

Ben jumped at the chance to prove he was listening and learning, "It controls how much gas and air mix and the speed of the engine!" He waved a black rubber hose in the air as if it proved his point.

Dean grinned and snatched the hose from him, pinching one of Ben's ear lobes fondly before gesturing for him to go into their home and wash up before dinner. The boy shot to the front door where his mother stood waiting, and Dean threw a wink her way before he set the black tube on top of his red Craftsman toolbox and shut any open drawers. Before he went inside to wash up himself, he caught a glimpse of his neighbor and Dean threw a wave with a smile and headed inside, the warmth of the day disappearing in the golden clouds of a setting sun.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror for a moment, not quite recognizing his reflection for some reason. Dean shook it off and bent down, flipping on the taps as he watched black grease swirl down the sink drain. He could smell the wafting scent of pork chops and mashed potatoes when the chiming doorbell sang throughout the house, and he stood up. Dean dried his hands on the fluffy grey towel hanging off the rack as he listened to Ben run to the door and opened it.

He could not hear any conversational sounds so he walked towards the foyer and raised one arm over Ben's head as if to shield him, and stepped into the doorway to greet their visitor. It was Ash.

* * *

Later that night Dean was with Ash as the memory replayed at the Roadhouse. The one where Dean was dancing with Jo first and then Ellen. Ash was sipping a beer, and then he wasn't. Then he was staring at Dean as if a light bulb exploded inside his head, and the MIT Motley Crew boy genius was striding across the floor and pulling a dirty-face Dean towards his bedroom. Which made Jo and Ellen blush to the roots of their hair.

"Dude, I dig the mullet and all, but I am not into this…you don't have…y'know." Dean made the general impression of breasts.

Ash raised an eyebrow but nodded his understanding, "Look, I got something to show ya. This paper here, says "Winchesters are trapped in heaven. Tell them 'Castiel was taken.'" Mean anything to ya?"

Dean's brow furrowed, but he shook his head.

"Castiel wasn't taken, I just saw him and Sam back at the motel…"

A niggling of a curiosity arose somewhere in the depths of Dean Winchester's conscious, and his head tilted to the side.

"What…why would I be in a motel on the road when I live with Lisa and Ben?"

Ash bobbed his head in Dean's general direction, "Now you're catching on again. Wake up call dude, you're back in the big house."

He gestured around him, "Welcome back to heaven. But down to business, I don't know about this Cas character, I don't even know what this means. You're dead and he's been napped downstairs? I don't see how this helps him." His head tilted to the side.

Dean shakes his head, the familiar ping of adrenaline and constant fear for his friend's safety churning in his belly.

"That wouldn't make sense, that's a memory from your lifetime, your actual life, which is way before either one of us die. How would I know we were trapped in heaven and Cas has been snatched before it happened?"

Ash tapped his fingers against his chin as he stared up at the ceiling of the Roadhouse in contemplation. "Well, I can tell you that the message isn't 100 percent accurate. Sam Winchester is not in heaven, I looked for him right after I found you."

Dean's eyes lowered as he took in this new information, struggling to bring painful memories into existence while standing in the one place they were not allowed. Maybe Sam wasn't dead, just because he wasn't with Dean in heaven did not mean Sam was trapped in hell.

He wished he could remember, things were fuzzy and elusive and not at all to Dean's liking.

"So this Cas fellow, I can at least scan the soul wing of heaven and see if he was killed and is floating around up here with us or something."

Ash tapped the laptop sitting atop the counter top, but Dean frowned heavily in response.

"I don't know if that will work. Castiel is an angel, he doesn't have a soul. I don't think angels stay in heaven when they die."

The burly caterpillars on Ash's face climbed to his hairline.

"Woah. You're working with one of those guys now? Last time you came around King Hail Mary wanted to rip you a new one and stuff his brother into you."

Dean smirked and shook his head, "Nah, Cas isn't like the other angels. He..."

They blinked simultaneously as the room darkened and wind begin to blow violently. Black sigils adorned every inch of the wooden walls around them, and Dean had to visibly hold back tears as he looked into the face of Bobby Singer.

He knew this memory.

Ash looked around in interest, flinching when lightning crashed and thunder rumbled over them in the wood shack they chose to do this in.

The lights went out violently and the barred doors splintered and opened.

Dean could not keep the grin off of his face as two shoes and a tan trench coat casually strolled towards the three waiting men. He stared into Castiel's face, and suddenly he knew. He knew an aching in his heart and a surge of anger so fierce he was part glowing with happiness to see his friend again, and also glaring murderously at him on his behalf. The three men watched him approach, looking around the room in interest until he approached Dean.

Castiel sought out Dean's face, waited a moment as the memory filled in Dean's, "Who are you?" and the soul of Dean's heart clenched painfully in his chest.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Ash's lower jaw nearly unhinged itself from his face, and he swung his gaze to look at Dean.

Who was so distraughtly pissed the fuck off that the wack job angels had _Cas_.

Yes, now he remembered everything. He even remembered the name of the bitch who was stringing Cas along for so long until she screwed up and the angel had come flapping his trench coat toting ass down to Sam and Dean and said "There's an angel that's trying to kill me, I think. Her name is Naomi."

Ash watched as Castiel laid two fingers to Bobby's head and eased him into unconsciousness, and Dean watched the memory play out until Cas said, "I'm an angel of the lord."

Dean chuckled softly as Ash's eyes bulged out of their sockets in wonder as massive twin shadows loomed large on the far wall, and Castiel's lineage was true.

"Dude. That's Castiel? That guys a badass."

Dean agreed.

* * *

"It's like heaven's a compound, and were in the soul pit, but there are other areas in heaven. I'm gonna swing by and see a few people, see what I can put together as far as figuring out how to crack the Matrix code."

Dean nodded as Ash drew symbols across his doorway in chalk, and slipped out into someone else's version of heaven.

The hunter was charged and ready, angry and itching for a fight now. As soon as the thought slipped through Dean's head the world changed and the evilest thing to enter heaven was the smile that crept across his lips.

He had three Seraph blades strapped to his person and one in his hand. His trusty double-barreled shotgun holstered at his waist already loaded with two shells made from the broken fragments of a seraph blade, and two more cases in the duffle bag at his feet. It seemed in heaven, he could break down the angel killing weapon and create new ones, as it was in fact what would make him very happy.

This discovery lead Dean to arm himself to the teeth, and he was ready to rip into any flapping dipshit that tried to come in between him and Castiel.

* * *

A quarter of the way through a bottle of Jack Daniels and a massive burger later found Dean Wincher in a comfortable dining chair, his feet propped atop the dining room table in a different memory with Sam in it. He watched for a while, but what was really on his mind was what had occurred to his little brother. Was Sam in hell, or was the Dean the only one who had died?

The muscle in his jaw clenched like it always did when he was upset, but the memory was spared any unnecessary trashing and destruction of props and setting when Ash turned back up, his laptop in hand and a smile on his face.

"Alright dude, I just got back from Einstein's, and we got a theory on how to crack this shit. See, you and me are made out of energy, the angels are made out of light and sound, which is energy but it's in a form that's already channeled.

Like, gasoline. Gasoline is energy, but it's a source of energy that's already been refined and you know exactly how you can use it. Energy like you and me is pure, hasn't been molded to fit into anything yet, you with me so far? It's the most powerful thing in the universe, but it's also exactly nothing at the same time. You can't use energy if it doesn't have a shape.

Alright," He typed rapidly, his fingers a blur across his keyboard as his eye swung from notation to keyboard to Dean's face at a frenzied pace.

"The heaven that we are in is amorphous, it was made to contain us, _as we actually are_ not as our minds percieve. You are a ball of pure energy which looks like nothing, not Dean Winchester. The parts of heaven that house the angels then, should theoretically be built around the fact that they are beings of light and sound. Which is all just wavelengths. All we have to do to get into that part of heaven, is shape ourselves into light and sound."

Dean beamed at him, "Like a radio?"

Ash nodded, "Exactly like a radio. We might not know how a radio works, but if you're a badass like me, you know how to build one anyways."

"So, first thing is first. We want to shape our energy so that it's compatible with the angel parts of heaven. We need to be light and sound. I'm gonna cook up an 'Ash-you're-fucking-awesome-and-I-want-to-have-your-babies-transmitter' that will do just that. I'd go into the theory crafting behind it but it's a bunch of equations and science that's not really comprehendible and since Sam isn't here I believe no one in the room but me will understand anyways."

He upended the bag he'd been carrying on table and set to work, pausing only to say offhandedly, "Oh, I um, I invited someone along for the trip. Thought you might need some back up, y'know, taking on heaven."

Dean glanced at him in confusion which quickly melted into delight as Bobby Singer walked through the motel door. His hat in place, scruffy beard thick and burly, but the keen sparkle of life that Dean had missed so much. The two men embraced roughly, and chuckled to themselves.

When they parted, Bobby nodded at the weapons strapped all over Dean's person.

"So, Cas in trouble?"

Dean nodded, "Course he is Bobby, dude turned heaven inside out helping us. This time heaven wanted him to pay for the things he's done. When Cas showed up, warning us about some sort of danger, they beat the shit out of him and drug him home bloodied and…"

The old trucker laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed tightly. "Don't fret on it boy. Castiel is still an angel, and that means something to most of the shitheads flying around up here. We'll find him, and we'll bring him home."

Dean nodded, the rage in his eyes dissipating only slightly.

* * *

"You boys ready? We're about to go somewhere no human has ever been." Ash waved the insane contraption he'd pieced together in the air, glancing between Dean and Bobby to gauge their reactions. Dean stepped out and asked very gently, "Are you guys sure you want to come with me? I mean, this is some serious shit going down and I don't know what happens to a human soul if it dies in heaven, so you really need to think about this."

Both men gave him a look that implied he was a pansy ass bitch and continued on with their preparations.

* * *

A few hours later Bobby, Dean and Ash were strapped with angel murdering weaponry and walkie-talkie radios attached at their waists. Ash had a duffle bag of electronic components and extra ammo, Dean carried a surplus of weapons and more ammo, and Bobby carried rations and even more bullets with which to storm heaven.

The atmosphere of the scene was more lighthearted then one might expect insurgents of heaven to be wrapped in. Defying their whimsical afterlife status for more bloodshed and war did not seem to faze any of the three souls involved, they laughed and joked and talked shit to each other as if it were just another day.

Ash stowed away his laptop in the dark slate grey duffle he carried, and set the weird radio-transmmitter-contraption-no-one-understood-but-Ash-and-Einstein on the ground and flipped switches and turned dials at a dizzying pace.

"Right. So I hope we can recognize each other when this is said and done, otherwise we might be ripping each other up."

Ash stood back and nodded at the other two parties around him, and Dean tensed.

"Here goes nothing."

When Dean was aware again, it was a whole different sense of the word '_aware_'. He couldn't see, in fact the world was pitch black. But he could hear, and he could…illuminate. It was like driving down a street during the holidays when figures and trees and houses are so strung up with lights you could make out the shapes of the things they hung on but were so blinded by the tiny bastard lights the things they hung off of were imperceptible.

He took stock of himself, and was visibly pleased to find that his light show was pretty damn bad ass. Dean was a glowing black light with breaks of nothing in between. He was a ball of warm yellow at the center with a whirling ring of deep burgundy, silver sparks, and blackness. As his amusement trilled through Dean's existence, a deep baritone ripple echoed out from him, in waves of sound that he could see light up the space outside of him.

'_Trippy.'_

He looked around him, seeing black but faint pricks of light in the far distance. Until something glowed into light next to him, and Dean turned his intelligence around to take in what was so obviously Bobby Singer's soul it was a little startling to realize just how much Dean knew about the man.

Whereas Dean was a stark contrast with himself, Bobby was one smooth gradient of blue. Even the epicenter of the man had a faint sheen like blue fire at the mouth of a lighter. Around the massive hull of Bobby there were many differently shaped spheres spinning in random directions with only faint white streaks of light left in their wake.

'_I'd have to agree with you there, son.' _

Dean was taken aback, because those were certainly not his thoughts.

'_Dude, I can hear you.'_

Bobby projected his 'idjit' without vocalizing it, and instead a ping like a g guitar string resounded off of his being like a scolding he would give a child. It washed over Dean's whirling lightshow with familiarity, and he squirmed like it was tickling him. He shot out sparks of silver as his amusement took over.

'_Where's Ash?'_

Bobby's question was answered as the last of their group materialized in the odd light world and both men were impressed with the glowing ball of gold and dark purple. Ash was a beacon of sparkling pure light, intermingling throughout his core were elaborate gradient slides into gleaming purple strokes like the man was the setting sky.

'_Dude. You're a fucking chick flick.'_

Ash spun in a circle as he tested out his form, a breezy note like of piano washing over his companions as he laughed at Dean.

'_Dude, look at me. I'm a sunset. Do you realize how many chicks I could pick up right now? I _am_ a sunset!'_

There was a general consensus that materialized as someone strumming a violin, a bas, and an electric guitar in the same D minor key simultaneously.

'_We're such badasses right now.'_ Dean intoned over their strange telepathic links. A crescendo of rock instruments resounded again.

'_Right, so, how do we find Castiel? Any thoughts, Dean?' _Bobby swirled his blue spheres so that he was apparently facing Dean, whose orbiting rings of dark red spun a little faster as he thought to himself.

'_Cas said a while back that there's a prison for angels here. I'm guessing we should start there.'_

The few minutes they'd spent in the coding mainframe of heaven had revealed that the black around them was not actually pitch black. It was closer to being a swirl of extremely dark colors, but there were faint vibrational humming pitches treading the airwaves from what appeared to be spires reaching into eternity.

'_I think those are buildings. Didn't Cas say he was as big as the Chrysler building once?'_

Ash glimmered brightly, _'Dude. Seriously? That's fucking awesome.'_

'_Alright, enough with the fawning. Let's get a quick stock of what we have, and then we need to get a move on. I'm sure Cas won't appreciate any extra time on the rack because we're too busy oohing and aahing at the shiny things.'_

The airwaves were quiet and still as the three souls looked inwards, trying to assess what was happening. Dean was the first one to discover where his weapons were.

'_I think what we packed was sort of transmitted with us. I think the reason we can talk to each other is because we brought along the radios. I know for a fact I can stab something. I don't know how, or with what, but I can feel the Angel Blade in my…um…ring-hand thing.' _

The giant glowing orbs around Bobby twinkled brighter and sped up as he agreed, outwardly spreading a wave of a few high chords.

Dean's amusement sparked silver again, and he delightedly asked Bobby, _'Did you just express your agreement with '_Smoke on the Water_' chords?'_

* * *

_I think it somehow became important that I make Dean the physical entity of AC/DC. D:_


End file.
